Larkstorm (12 page)

I jump to my feet and say, “Oh no! I left my backpack in the barn!”

Before Miss Tully can stop me, I run to the door. “Will you ping while I go get it? I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You be careful,” she responds. “It’s awful out there.”

“I will. Be back in a minute.” I zip my jacket all the way up and adjust my scarf.

When I open the door, I’m pulled into a winter tornado.

The howling wind circles me and nearly knocks me down. The barn is only about a hundred feet away, but the furious snow obscures it until I’m just inches from the door. I waste no time and run to my stall, locate the pack and throw it over my shoulder.

At the barn door, I scan the landscape. Even if Miss Tully were trying to look for me, she’d see nothing but a sheet of white. But that also means there’s no way for me to watch for Callum and Annalise.

The snow forms a wall of white all around me. I touch the side of the barn and feel my way around, until I come to the back.

The snow eases slightly and I spot two rows of trees sloping upward. There’s no path to speak of, since about six inches of snow cover everything, but that must be it.

I give the open field a quick once over. Annalise and Callum are nowhere to be seen so I trudge to the path. My feet sink deep in the snow. The wind picks up and blows against my back, hard.

Annalise must be getting closer. Determined to avoid her, I try to quicken my pace but the snow makes it difficult.

Halfway up the hill, I slide back and land a few feet from the bottom. Frustration pokes at me. It begs me to give up and trek back to the house. It pleads with me to lie to Miss Tully again and say that I got lost in the storm. And for a moment, I listen
—
lying, after all, is becoming second nature for me.

The silence of the storm surrounds me. Even though the snow falls at an unseemly rate and the trees bend to gravity defying angles, there’s silence.

The sound of my breath fills my ears. Deep inside I feel a gentle pull, as if several strings have been tied around my heart. They lift me from the snow and urge me forward.

With renewed determination, I climb the hill again. This time, the dwindling wind makes the attempt easier but reaching the top is agonizingly slow. I slide back with every other step on the icy path. To make matters worse, when the wind gusts, it’s from behind. Strong blasts knock me to my knees.

Walking upright doesn’t get me anywhere, so I crawl. The snow stings my ungloved fingers, but I have no other option.

As I near the crest, the wind and snow start up their game of torture again. The frigid air cuts at my throat and stings my nostrils through my scarf. The endless strain of confusion, frustration and heartbreak becomes too much and I break. Tears freeze on my cheeks.

Annalise and Callum must be close to cause a storm like this.

“C’mon, Annalise!” I yell into the gray sky. “Come get me if you want me so badly!”

In response, the snow spins violently and lashes at me. But no one comes. I’m alone, crawling in the snow, crying. My clothes are a wet mess. My hands are frozen. I wipe my snotty nose on my stiff scarf.

Why are they doing this? Why? Is it really so awful that I want to see Beck?

Tired of fighting, I close my eyes and roll onto my back. The memory of Beck’s warm hand in mine fills me. My tears slow as the invisible strings around my heart tighten. They comfort me in some strange way and prod me to get up, to keep going.

The sensation is so odd and unexpected. It’s as if I’d cried out all the fear and frustration. Enough, I think. Enough of the self-pity. Sitting here crying isn’t going to bring Beck to you.

I stand, determined to press on. Only a little bit more, I tell myself. Beck is nearby. You just have to walk a little bit more.

But what feels like hours later, I’m still walking and crawling
—
my fingers numb and my cheeks wind burnt. And yet the strings won’t let me stop, even though I want to. They drag me along and force me forward.

I’m not sure where I am. Miss Tully said Summer Hill was just up the path, but there’s no visible path. For all I know, I may be standing deep in the forest somewhere.

I search for an indication of my whereabouts. There’s nothing but snow and trees.

How do you pass a house as large and magnificent as Summer Hill?

You don’t. Not even in a blizzard.

I must not have gone far enough. I need to keep going.

Branches snap from the weight of the snow. Without warning, a snow-heavy tree groans and breaks, falling directly across the path. The sound severs my heartstrings and I’m left untethered, lost in the woods.

Defeated, I slam my bag on the ground. It’s not fair! Why am I going through all this? Beck obviously didn’t care enough about me to share his secret.

I throw myself into a snow bank, no longer caring if I get wet. Let me die here.

The storm swirls around me as if feeding on my misery. I’ve always loved this weather, but now it’s like everything conspires against me.

If I ever see Annalise again, I’ll…I’ll what? Run away, so she can’t squeeze the air from my lungs again? What exactly
can
I do against a Sensitive?

I sit up and hurl a handful of snow. The wind shifts and a faint sparkle of sunlight glimmers off my left. I squint and see a shape about ten feet in front of me. Somewhere, over there, is sun. Curious, I stand up and trudge over to where I saw the glimmer.

There, in the middle of this snowstorm, is Summer Hill
—
completely enclosed by an invisible dome and as clear and sunny as the brightest summer day.

14

Summer Hill.

Like a mirage, the pale yellow house shimmers beneath the glowing sun. Tall meadow grass bends and sways, sending a ripple from the bottom of the hill to the top, where the house sits. From my perspective, the roof appears to break through the bright blue sky.

My fingers tremble as I unzip the front pocket of my backpack and take out the picture I stole from the album in my room. Beck and I smile from the wooden steps of the very porch wrapping three sides of this house, in front of the same row of low, white-washed chairs.

The second story appears to be made entirely of glass, which gives the illusion the sloped roof floats above the rest of the house. Further off to the left are the smaller, brilliant white outbuildings. Just like the picture.

I’m here.

Like earlier, an invisible string tugs on me, urging me forward. I can’t explain how, but I know, absolutely know, Beck is here.

Tears of relief threaten to ruin my moment as I run toward the house, eager to see him. But I’m stopped after three leaps by an invisible barrier. There’s no pain; just a sensation. Like landing in a thick mess of immovable pillows.

Like at school, a transparent barrier protects Summer Hill. Only this one extends over the house as well. Like a giant, inside-out snow globe, where the snow whirls around the outside, but inside the sun shines, bright and steady. Insects buzz through the grass and there’s not a cloud in the sky.

I reach out with my fingers until the smooth surface slips through them. It molds to my shape but doesn’t let my fingers pass. Small vibrations radiate from the dome. It’s not at all like the barricade at school.

I make a fist and swing at the invisible wall, but my hand finds nothing solid to strike.

“Hello!”

No one answers. I thrust my hand at the dome again, grasping for something to hold
,
but come up empty.

My eyes dart around the interior. Summer Hill is silent. And seemingly empty. The only sign of life is a lone dragonfly flitting amongst the tall grass.

I crouch on the frozen ground and puzzle over the security system. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. There’s no visible opening and no way over it. Whoever put it here doesn’t want Beck to leave.

The dome only goes
over
Summer Hill as far as I can tell. Maybe I can tunnel under the wall?

I sink to my knees and dig through the snow. Once I hit the ground, I pull a fallen branch over the spot and use it as a shovel. It snaps
—
the ground is rock hard.

Tears well in my eyes, but I shouldn’t cry. I need to just keep digging. My fingernails claw at the frozen ground. Bits of dirt loosen.

Anger latches onto me. It removes all my previous excitement. My fists strike the barrier, but like before, they’re unable to find a target.

I didn’t come all this way to be turned away. Small flames lick my burning heart and copy the escalating fury of the storm. A scream forms in the back of my throat.
“Let me in!”

A small pop
—
like a cork being released from a bottle. I slam my fist into the nothingness again. The barricade wobbles and a wall of warm air hits me and blasts through my ears. Beneath my hand, the thick, soft barrier dissolves.

I leap backward.

The barrier’s gone, completely disintegrated. Afraid the wall will close, I grab my backpack and push my arm through.

A thunderous voice calls out to me and I freeze.

“Lark Greene. What are you doing tearing holes in the sides of people’s homes and bringing in all the cold air?”

15

Bethina watches me from the porch.

An icy fright spreads through my veins and paralyzes me. I envision Annalise and Callum standing behind me, laughing as Annalise wraps me in her heavy air trap.

I raise my hands toward Bethina, prepared to ask for help. But I can, in fact, move. There’s nothing holding me.

My attention swings back to B. Is this a trick? How’d she get to Summer Hill before me? The only time she ever leaves our house for more than a few hours is when she accompanies Beck and me to our parents’ homes. She’s never gone away without us before. But neither of us are at school anymore either.

I hesitate, then place one foot where I believe the opening to be and swing it side-to-side, trying to locate the invisible edges. I’ve encountered too many things in the past two days to blindly walk through the barrier.

“Lark Greene, either you get over here right now or I’m going to put a world of hurt on you.” Bethina stands tall, arms folded, and waits.

Years of experience have taught me this is her serious mood. The dread disappears and I push my body through the hole. Once inside, there’s a faint zipping noise. The snowflakes disappear. The tall meadow grass brushes against my shoulders as I walk toward the porch.

“Quickly. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.” She turns and disappears through the front door.

A rush of air hits me from the right, then another from my left. They tickle over my body, probing into the loose edges of my jacket. When they find an entrance, they race under my clothes, like a swarm of invisible mosquitos.

What are they?

Before I can figure it out, the tickles become nibbles, then bites. I swat at them, striking my arms, legs and torso until they recede.

Behind me, a whisper. I spin to confront it.

“Who’s there?” My weak voice wavers more than I’d like.

Hushed voices float across the field, churning into one another and mingling with the wind so that I can’t make out specific words.

Something, or someone, watches me from the grass. My quickening pulse thunders in my ears. “I can hear you. I know you’re there.”

A tall, young man steps into the path in front of me. My breath hitches. Even in my confused state, I can see he’s gorgeous. Chiseled jaw, piercing blue eyes, light brown hair. The kind of guy Kyra would make all kinds of inappropriate comments about.

He throws up his hand, like telling me to stop. I freeze.

“Bethina’s waiting for you,” he says, the words razor sharp. For being beautiful, there’s something ugly about the way he regards me.

A sliver of pale yellow streaks through the grass. Dull blue appears to my left. A glint of green pulls my attention to the space behind the man.

All around us, dozens of people crouch low in the swaying grass. Watching me.

The man, dressed head-to-toe in muted red, squares his shoulders as if to challenge me.

The hair on my neck pricks up and I take a step back. “I know.”

My eyes find his wrist. Like mine, it’s bare. So, he’s not a State-identified Sensitive. But who, or what, is he? And does he have something to do with the invisible mosquitos?

The man glares at me before retreating back into the grass. He whistles a few snappy notes of a song I vaguely recognize, and vanishes.

I swing my head from side to side
—
surely he didn’t disappear?

Unease grows in me. Anxious to be with Bethina, I race the rest of the way to the house. I leap the stairs two at a time and cross the wide expanse of the porch to the unlocked screen door. It slams shut behind me.

In the large, sunlit entryway, my heart thunders in my ears. The Channings have always welcomed me into their home and I have many happy memories of Summer Hill, but the strange barrier over the estate, and the sinister people outside, have left me feeling less than safe. For all I know, I could be entering a home full of Sensitives
—
Beck included.

“I’m in here, Lark.” Bethina’s voice calls from the room I remember as the library.

Generations of smiling Channings peer down at me from the photos lining the hallway. The library door is ajar and I slip through the crack, not bothering to open it further. Unlike the rest of the world, Beck’s father insists on keeping old, paper books and they line three of the walls, floor to ceiling.

An oversized window dominates the fourth wall and Bethina stands before it, looking out.

“I see you met Eamon.”

“The man in the field?”

She dips her dark head but doesn’t say anything else, just stares out the window.

“What is he?” The man’s
—
Eamon’s
—
naked wrist could mean anything. Maybe he’s an uncaught Sensitive or perhaps an extremist living on the fringe of the society. Either way, whatever he is, it isn’t good.

“He’s a healer.”

That’s
not the answer I expected. “A healer?”

Bethina turns around. The corner of her eyes crinkle and she smiles. Instead of answering me, she says, “I’m very happy to see you.”

That makes two of us. Bethina always knows how to fix my problems. Seeing her here, at Beck’s home, makes me wish I’d been more patient. Maybe she would have helped me. “I’m sorry I ran off, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Her gaze locks on mine as if searching for something. Seeming to find it, a rush of air escapes her lips. A sigh. “There are some things we need to discuss.”

She lifts a pile of clothes I hadn’t noticed before off a side table. “But first, why don’t you change? You’re soaked and shivering.” She holds out a sundress and undergarments. “I brought these for you. There’s a bathroom down the hallway.”

“Where’s Beck?” I ask through clenched teeth.

“He’s here.”

Tears sting my eyes as relief overcomes me. He’s here. Not in jail. Not on his way to a labor camp. But here, with his family.

Beck is okay.

I start for the door, eager to find him. “Is he outside?” I ask. He can’t possibly know I’ve arrived, or he would have greeted me the second I broke through the barricade. Maybe I can surprise him.

She shakes her head. “After you and I talk, you can see Beck. Now go change.”

I spin around and cross my arms. “No. I want to see him now.”

Bethina tilts her head slightly and raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t need to say anything for me to know arguing is pointless.

I yank the pile of clothes from her hands. As upset as I am over the delay in seeing Beck, I don’t want to sit in dripping wet clothes. My skin burns and tingles as it slowly rises back to a normal temperature.

I hurry to the bathroom and strip. The dry sundress and sandals are a vast improvement over my frozen jeans and soggy boots. After splashing some water on my face, I run my hands through the knots in my hair until I look marginally presentable and then gather my wet items before heading back to the living room.

“Here.” I throw my dripping wet clothes at Bethina.

She doesn’t reach for them. Instead she lets them fall to the ground. “I don’t care how mad you are, Lark, you will not disrespect me.” From a side table drawer, she removes a plastic bag and hands it to me. “Pick up that mess. When you’re done, have a seat.” She motions to the couch.

“First,” I say, “why can’t I see Beck?” Bethina is not going to lecture me.

“He’s waiting to see how it goes.” She keeps her eyes locked on mine.

“He doesn’t want to see me?” I ask, trying to understand. Beck’s waiting to see if I still want him? Is he worried I won’t forgive his lies and secrets? I don’t even want to think that. I scoop up the damp garments and shove them into the bag. Then I dangle the bag out by one finger toward Bethina. When she doesn’t take it from me, I toss it onto a chair.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves.” She points at the sofa again. “Sit. Please.”

I flinch under her unwavering gaze. There’s no way around it. I’m going to have to sit here and listen to her if I want to see Beck. Loose pillows dot the back of the rock hard sofa, and I pick one up and hold it tight across my chest. Bethina takes the chair across from me.

“Tell me about your journey.”

“My journey?” I snap. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

She folds and unfolds her hands in her lap. It’s a gesture I’ve seen her make hundreds of times when dealing with my housemates. But this time, her eyes bore into me and no one else. All the anger, all the bitterness vanishes. It’s as if I’ve been purged of any desire to lash out. My anxiety lingers, but I’m calm. I can’t explain it and that strikes me as odd. One minute I want to storm out of the room to find Beck and the next, I’m content to sit and wait.
 
 
 

“Tell me what happened,” Bethina orders, this time more forcefully.

The events after I left our house tumble out of me. I have no control over it
—
my body is forcing me to tell her everything. When I get to Maz joining me, I stop.

“Bethina, we have to help him.” My voice rises. “He’s been accused of kidnapping me. I saw it on a wall screen
—
he and the other students. My mother is trying to protect her image. And now Annalise and Callum have him. We’ve got to do something.”

Bethina waves for me to stop. “There’s no need to help Maz.”

“What are you saying? Of course we need to help him. You didn’t see what Annalise can do.” I glare at her. How can she not care? Maz is one of her charges. “He was scared, Bethina.”

She gives me a strange look, as if I should understand something. I wait, unsure what to say.

“Maz is Sensitive. Your brother and his wife pose no danger to him.”

I freeze. “That’s impossible! You didn’t see how scared he was on the platform. And all he wanted…” I break off.

“Was for you to stop looking for Beck?” Bethina raises her eyebrow.

“To help me,” I whisper, remembering how he told me to run.

She shoots me a bewildered look. Apparently, Maz wanting to help me isn’t what she expected.

I think back to the afternoon in the living room and how Bethina made a point of telling me Beck wasn’t in jail. She would tell me nothing, yet she knew what was going on. She could have saved me from the train, Callum, Annalise, and the freezing, relentless snow. She could have brought me straight here, but she didn’t. Instead she tried to make me sit and listen, just like now.

Chills run down my spine.

The only way she’d know is if she were one of them.

I swallow hard to flush the bile from my throat and nervously play with my necklace. “You’re Sensitive?” I whisper, hoping, praying I’m wrong.

Bethina’s lips form a small smile. “I prefer the term ‘witch’.”